


longing

by Khismer



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Masturbation, Other, gender neutral reader (no pronouns)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 19:46:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8070337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khismer/pseuds/Khismer
Summary: He’s got one arm braced against the tile wall and his teeth clamped firmly over his lips, willing himself to be quiet, to get this over with.





	

He’s got one arm braced against the tile wall and his teeth clamped firmly over his lips, willing himself to be quiet, to get this over with.

He doesn’t bother to make his motions gentle, just fast, trying to get to an end without thinking too hard about it.

The water washes over him, scalding hot, or near enough to it to hurt.

Cold water won’t do anything to stop this and he hates that, hates that he knows it, hates himself for being so _weak._ These trips are growing more frequent, and – if the savior _knew_ …

He just… has to get this over with, keep his mind blank and everything will be fine.

“Heeeeey, Mr. Boss Man~”

“Ng–”

He jerks, fingers curling around his length as you coo out that stupid nickname.

You continue, undaunted by his lack of response. You know he’s not the only one to use these stalls, right?

“Listen, I just wanna make sure you don’t use up all the hot water, huh? It’s been a long day for _me,_ too, and I don’t want you ruining my shower for me.”

 _Don’t_ think about that.

“…boss man?”

Maybe you’ll get bored and wander off. Good. Your voice is… distracting. Makes him waste time he doesn’t need to be wasting.

“Boss, if you’re gonna stay in there all day, I should just come in there with you, save us both the trouble.”

He jerks again at that image, has to bite back a groan as his pace stutters. _God._ You would, too, wouldn’t you? Just come barging in if he hadn’t locked the door.

Your eyes would widen and you’d – you’d –

…no, you wouldn’t, would you? You _should,_ should be disgusted with his lack of control, should run off to the savior.

But he imagines –

You’d get that _look_ on your face, the one you get before you run your mouth off, and you’d ask “ _boss man, d’you need some help with that?_ ”

And then you’d realize the missed opportunity for another terrible pun and you’d hurry to amend, “ _or assistance. From your assistant.”_

In this imagining you’d sink to your knees, lay your palm flat against his hip. You’d remove his hand, carefully; place a kiss to the center of his palm, gently, then gentler still press your lips to the tip – he bites a knuckle of his free hand to keep himself quiet – and you’d –

(you would.  
you wouldn’t.  
you couldn’t.  
you _would_ –)

Smile as you call his name, call him back to you.

You couldn’t. He hasn’t _told_ you that name, and he _won’t_ tell you. But he can imagine it, can see the way you’d draw it out, almost singing it, then smile as you took him into his mouth.

You’d move slower than he moves now, unrelentingly soft around him as you looked up at him through your eyelashes. You’d want to watch his face, watch how you ruined him, like you’re ruining him now just with the thought of you.

You’d part your knees as you kneeled, spread yourself open, an expression of innocence in your eyes, and he shudders as he imagines your wordless offer.

If you were here you’d laugh and tease him about _really needing some assistance after all, huh?_ and grinning as you finally got it right.

Your voice filters through the door again, tinged with worry. “Boss…”

He wishes he didn’t know that it was you who pushed him over the edge, but _god_.

He bites his knuckle as his orgasm finally hits him, wills himself to be quiet. He comes back to himself and he’s panting, palming himself in a shower stall, shuddering and alone.

When he opens the door, you whirl, eyes wide, and then – damn you and damn him too – your face breaks into a smile that’s one part nervous and two parts relieved.

“Hey,” you say, hands fidgeting with what he assumes is a change of clothes, “welcome back to the world of the living. Nice, ah, to see you haven’t drowned.”

He thought he wouldn’t be able to look at you but his eyes fix on you, on your smile, and he watches as red creeps over your face, blushing faintly at the attention.

Do you _know_ you look like that now?  

…has anyone else ever known it?

It’s an idle thought, but it… rubs at him the wrong way and he wants, suddenly, to step closer, back you up into that wall and –

No, no, no. He can’t.

But he _wants._

“…your turn,” he says in lieu of this, and the dagger of _want_ twists deeper as your face flushes deeper at his words.

He keeps his gaze on the door long after you shut it behind you, awash in implications.

You’ll be the death of him, won’t you?

**Author's Note:**

> y'all I wasn't going to post it bc I think it's messy and I cobbled parts together just so it wasn't sitting in my drafts, but it was surprisingly well-received on my sin blog so?? take it I guess??  
> also since y'all are sweet go toss some prompts at mistakemessengerimagines.tumblr.com bc I'm a mod there and idk, maybe there's something you want me to write ;o


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